


Wires

by BirdOfHermes



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Captasha - Freeform, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Headcanon, Intimacy, Male-Female Friendship, Slow Burn, Touch-Starved, Touching, Undercover Missions, Unresolved Sexual Tension, bearded steve is a good steve, romanogers - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-06
Updated: 2018-06-13
Packaged: 2019-05-03 01:03:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14557467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BirdOfHermes/pseuds/BirdOfHermes
Summary: A look at moments in the evolving relationship between Steve Rogers and Natasha Romanov. Set between the end of Civil War and the beginning of Infinity War. Spoilers for both. Eventual Captasha/Romanogers.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I really dig how ride-or-die Nat and Steve have become over the course of the MCU. I mean, it's so important how their friendship formed and has been evolving over time. It's probably my favorite friendship among the Avengers, and yet it's very clear that there is some sexual tension between them. I'm fine with it never becoming canon, but because they've been partners for so long and because of the unbreakable trust we see in them even in small parts of Infinity War, I had to write a few pieces. These are the ones that sprang to mind right off the bat, but I'll add to them as more moments pop into my head. Plus, I'm really happy that Chris Evans apparently ships them too. 
> 
> Keep in mind certain things are just my headcanons. I try to stay canon compliant, but you'll see a few changes here and there to what's established in CW/IW.

 

_Hanging on this wire_

_Waiting for the day I have to choose_

_Cursed by love so dire_

_One more boy for hire_

_One more boy to lend a hand to you_

_But is this just desire or the truth?_

_So shame on me for the ruse_

_Shame on me for the blues_

_Another one returned that I'll never use_

_I won't go getting tired of you_

_I won't go getting tired of you_

_I'm not getting tired..._

_-"Tired of You" by Foo Fighters_

“I need you.”

Those were the three words that honestly changed Natasha Romanov’s life after the events of the Accords.

She stood over her suitcase with the phone pressed to one ear, her throat tightening at the soft concern and yet firm resolve in Steve Rogers’ voice. That was one thing she hadn’t gotten used to in the spy business—someone so forthright and honest, nearly transparent. Steve didn’t mince words.

She licked her lips and managed to speak finally after a significant amount of silence. “Why?”

“We’re getting them out.”

“Them” was an understood term between the two of them. Her line wasn’t compromised—and she checked it on a daily basis just to make sure—but better safe than sorry. For a second, the world froze. She went over the facts she already knew. She knew the security. She knew the amount of clearance it would take. She knew that she’d already found herself tiptoeing along the line between treason and the law with her actions letting Steve and Bucky go at the airport. She knew Tony would be furious, that he’d never forgive her, that this was a one way trip that would change her future to something dangerous and uncharted.

She also knew that Steve wouldn’t blame her for saying no. He didn’t hold grudges. Hell, that was why it was so damned hard to stay mad at him. He could read between the lines and accept that everyone had shortcomings, even himself. He could find another way to get them out without her help. He always found another way.

But he needed her.

Her next question matched the firmness in Steve’s tone.

“When?”

* * *

“I need you.”

Steve’s still form shifted a bit. He’d been standing on the balcony overlooking the city of Wakanda. Nat had to admit she wasn’t impressed often, but it had blown her mind a thousand times over. It was beautiful and serene, yet bustling and lively, an almost playful city bursting at its seams with vitality. The second she stepped foot from the Quinjet, she never wanted to leave it.

It had only been a couple hours since Bucky went under cryosleep. Steve had held it together pretty well, all things considered, at least in front of T’Challa and the others.

But she knew him.

“Yeah?” Steve asked as he heard her approach from behind, tilting his face slightly.

Nat smirked and wrapped one arm around him in a half-hug, resting her chin on his shoulder. She felt him relax into the touch and some part of her wanted to sigh in relief and the other warned her to climb onto the next thing smoking out of Wakanda. “Easy, big guy. Not for a mission. We’re going shopping.”

Steve’s eyebrows lifted. “Shopping?”

“Yeah,” she said easily, pointing towards the marketplace at the center of the city. “We’re still in combat gear. When are we ever going to get a chance to wear Wakandan clothing?”

Steve smiled a little. “Point taken.”

He glanced down at his crossed arms. “Nat, I’m not sure I’d be good company right now.”

“And that’s exactly why you’re going, Rogers.” She slid around to face him and touched his forearm gently. “Bucky doesn’t want you to hole up in your apartment and brood. You know that, Steve. You didn’t do this to him. He made a choice. You should be proud of him.”

“I am,” he said softly. “Trust me. It wasn’t easy.”

“Exactly. So respect him enough not to turn yourself into a recluse and come shopping with me.” She caught his hand and tugged him back inside. “And if you’re good, I’ll buy you some ice cream.”

Steve smirked as he headed towards the closet. “And what constitutes as ‘good’ in your book?”

She opened the door and sent him a coy little smile before she left. “Guess you’ll just have to find out.”

* * *

 

Neither of them really said anything about it, but touch became an important thing between them after the Accords.

It wasn't as if they hadn't touched before, plenty of times. They had run mission after mission together side by side. They pushed, they pulled, they covered one another without hesitation. It was effortless in the field. They never thought twice about it. They knew each other's boundaries there and it would never be an issue.

They were on a long drive to their next rendezvous point. A few hours. Steve had some soft jazz playing over the radio and Nat had her feet up on the dashboard, humming along under her breath. They'd reached a comfort level where they could talk if they wanted to, about almost anything, or just enjoy the silence together. Nat could see in her peripheral that Steve's expression had started to darken. It happened sometimes. They were only a couple months into their fugitive status. They were war criminals in some circles. Cap hadn't given her details, but she knew that he'd fallen out as hard as someone ever could with Tony, and it hurt him deeply.

So she reached over, picked up his arm, and put it in her lap.

Steve glanced over at her for a moment, taken aback, but not uncomfortable.

Nat smiled at him. He smiled back. She dropped her gaze to his hand and started tracing the lines over his palm, remembering what she could of the old school game of what those lines told you about the person. Eventually, she linked their fingers together and they held hands for the rest of the trip, no words necessary.

In the coming weeks and months they spent together, there were other touches just as soft and casual and important. Nat had always been comfortable in her own skin, so it was easy enough for her to add that level of intimacy to a friendship. She'd stand next to him at the counter of whatever hotel they were in, bumping his shoulder with her own as they unpeeled oranges together. She'd put her feet in his lap when they lay on the couch watching Netflix. After it happened a few times and he caught on, he'd tickle the bottoms of them and she'd pretend to glare at him, but he'd just grin and then give her a foot massage. If she stood at the window, her mind consumed with all that they had to do, he'd creep up behind her and lay his chin on her hair, sliding his hands over her shoulders and rubbing them gently.

She came to find Steve's touch relaxed her. Nat knew better than to ever think they were safe, but Steve made her feel like she could pretend they were when he touched her. He never pushed. He never did anything inappropriate. Each touch was simply a reminder. _I'm here. We'll get through this together. We've made it this far. We can do this. We can survive._

And most important of all: _you are not alone._

* * *

The beard was her idea.

Steve had been busy lately and got behind on shaving. He stood in front of the mirror and Nat was lazing about on the bed in one of his t-shirts--he somehow was amazing at finding the most comfortable kind and she'd been stealing them for months now--and she cocked her head to one side as he shook the shaving cream can. He caught her looking and asked, "What?"

"Is it weird that I want you to keep it?"

Steve arched an eyebrow. "Seriously?"

"Yeah," Nat said, rolling off the bed. "I kind of like the scruff."

Steve chuckled. "That's not the most flattering word for it, Nat."

She came up to his side and looked at him in the mirror. "Well, it would make recognizing you harder. You'd be surprised how many people peg you based on that perfect square jaw."

Steve rolled his eyes. Despite the fact that men and women alike were universally attracted to him, Steve never thought much of his appearance. Nat was always astounded by it, but she also knew in spite of his literal perfect physique, he was still just a shy person in general from his days as the little guy. "Nobody's perfect, Nat."

She nudged him with her elbow. "Just...give it a try. I'll get you some of that nifty beard wax and some great clippers. I think you could rock the beard, Rogers. Besides, it could end up being beneficial should you find that special someone."

Again, Steve lifted an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"Yeah, man," she said, waggling her eyebrows. "Ever heard of beard burn? It's actually kind of sexy."

Steve shook his head. "Get your mind out of the gutter, Nat."

"Just saying, Rogers." She winked and gave him a playful swat on the backside. He laughed this time as she headed back to the bed. He put the shaving cream down and grabbed a brush instead.

By the time the beard grew out to full length, Sam eyed him, then glanced at Nat and said, "This is your doing, isn't it?"

" _Moi?_ " Nat said, widening her eyes to look innocent.

"Look, it's bad enough trying to get any girl's number with him in the vicinity," Sam said, crossing his arms. "Now it's just impossible."

"Hey," Steve said. "I'm right here."

Sam shook his head again. "Wingman, my ass. I'm going to the bar by myself from now on."

-

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Nat's relationship deepens. Sam's throwing some side eyes. Short pieces.

 

_Certain things in life I cannot take_

_When I'm awake_

_I hope you know I can_

_I hope you know I can_

_So cold_

_I know you can't believe it_

_Sometimes you gotta face the feeling_

_When you don't care if you get up again_

_There's a thousand things I will not understand..._

_-"Yamaha" by Delta Spirit_

He surprised her the first time he replied to something she'd said in Russian.

They'd been arguing about an entry point--she thought her route was faster, but Steve argued it was too dangerous--and she'd broken off muttering things in Russian. Steve stared at her turned back as she called him a naive, overprotective alpha male, and Steve responded in Russian that he'd take that into account in the future.

Nat's jaw dropped. Not only had his grammar been correct, the accent was damn near flawless. She quickly snapped her mouth shut and crossed her arms, narrowing her eyes at the calm smirk on his lips. "And just how long have you spoken fluent Russian, Rogers?"

Steve shrugged. "Few months. Figured I'd need to in case we got captured and our captors didn't speak it. French and German are a little too common in the circles we travel in."

His smirk widened a touch. "And I just wanted to see that look on your face."

"Smartass," Nat growled. "Don't think I can't still call you names in other languages."

Steve grinned. "I'll try to keep up."

After she was done fuming, Natasha tested his knowledge. When they geared up, she'd ask him questions and he'd answer. Sometimes he asked about slang words and she'd tell him, amused when he found out what some of them meant. They gave each other nicknames in Russian for fun, enjoying how Sam tried to guess what they meant and brought up Google translate on his phone (not that it was very accurate.) They took turns teaching him bits and pieces here and there until he could at least put some sentences together and understand the general idea of a conversation in Russian.

"No offense, folks," Sam said around a beer. "But Spanish is my thing. Russian's too complicated, if you ask me."

"That's why it's fun," Nat insisted, poking him in the ribs. "You should learn."

Sam shot her a sly smirk. "I don't know, Nat. I kind of think I'd be encroaching on you and Cap's thing."

"Thing?" Steve asked, arching an eyebrow. "What thing?"

"Oh, there's definitely a thing," Sam said, grabbing another beer from the fridge. "A vibe. I know better than to become a third wheel. Hey, is there a term for that in Russian?"

Nat rolled her eyes. "There is no thing, Sam. Speaking multiple languages is a necessary skill for spy craft."

Sam leaned down to her height. "And what part of spy craft requires cute pet names?"

Nat scowled. Sam chuckled and gave her a playful poke to the ribs in return. "Like I said. There's definitely a thing, Romanov."

She watched him walk towards the den and muttered, "Dumbass" in Russian.

" _Da_ ," Steve rumbled, pretending his cheeks weren't a little red beneath the beard.

-

Nat was used to insomnia by now. It came with the job, to be honest. Spies could compartmentalize things expertly during the day, but at night, all bets were off. She'd learned how to meditate ages ago, but every so often there was a mission that dug beneath her skin too much, and she couldn't shake it off and sleep like normal. Their current hotel had thin walls, and she didn't want to wake Steve or Sam, so she just curled up in her bed and stared at the rain splashing on the windowpane. Thunder rolled across the skies like a bowling ball. Lightning flared and licked the storm clouds. She always felt a tiny pang whenever she saw it. As silly as it sounded, she sort of missed Thor these days. His boisterous personality and thousand-watt smile had been a welcome addition to the team. He'd honestly felt like an older brother to her, always teasing her, always challenging her to ridiculous contests at random to see if he could best her. She hoped wherever he was that he was safe.

Nat glanced at the clock on the wall and groaned. Half past two am by now. She really needed to get some sleep, but her mind wouldn't settle. It replayed the day's events in an endless loop. Blood on her hands, in her hair, on her neck. She'd never be able to get it off, not really, no matter how many hot showers she took.

The door to her hotel room quietly opened and then closed. She knew no one could have entered without a key. Soft footfalls approached the bed. The sheets stirred and settled again, the mattress pushing down under the weight of a warm male body. Nat didn't bother rolling over. She knew who it was.

"You too?" she murmured.

"Yeah," Steve sighed.

Nat scooted back until she felt the firm wall of his chest along her spine. Steve wrapped his arm around her waist and buried his face in her nape, casting hot air down her shoulder blades. His beard tickled. She hid a smile and watched the storm, running her fingers lightly over Steve's scarred knuckles.

She fell asleep half an hour later.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sam totally ships it. Just so you know.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dancing and pancakes. Not together, naturally. Short and sweet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first ficlet is inspired by Mr. and Mrs. Smith. I love that movie and that dance scene at the beginning is unbelievably sexy, and I think it would be the same with Steve and Nat if they ever danced together.

She knew he had a thing about dancing.

There weren't a ton of opportunities where dancing was involved--mainly those surrounding surveillance of some Hydra agent trying to sell their contraband to the highest bidder--but Natasha knew not to push Steve about joining her on the dance floor. He'd told her the story of he and Peggy back in 1945 very quietly one night while they were sharing a beer. She understood why he always stood off to the side of the dance floor, those blue eyes distant, hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched like he was still that shy little guy from before the Super Soldier serum.

He wasn't alone, though.

Natasha danced out of necessity. In the past, she'd enjoyed dancing with Clint. He was neither graceful nor elegant in a waltz, but let there be an up-tempo merengue or mambo and he'd light up with glee and dances circles around her. Nat tried to avoid ballroom dancing if she could. It always made her think of those pointed toes and swishing tutus in the Red Room. If she could push it aside, she actually liked to dance.

But only with the right partner.

Like Clint, Sam wasn't smooth. He always made her laugh, but he was a little awkward on his feet and had trouble keeping up with her, so he only joined her when she needed a partner for a slow dance. Sam was always the perfect gentleman, too, just like Steve, in spite of his attraction to her.

Something about tonight felt different. They weren't on mission this time. They'd gone to a seedy, hole-in-the-wall bar in Honduras. Someone with oodles of soul picked at a guitar on stage and sang lustily in a cigarette-carved voice that made the hairs on her nape stand up, but in a good way. Nat loved those unpolished singers. She felt it was why music existed in the first place.

Aside from her and Steve, there were plenty of gringos around, so the throaty singer switched to an English song that got Nat out of her seat in nothing flat. This time, though, she offered Steve her hand with a gentle, encouraging smile.

"How about it, Rogers?"

Steve shook his head. "No, thanks, Nat."

She took his hand and leaned down to his height, her voice soft. "She wouldn't want you on the bench your whole life, Steve. You know that. You can't move on if you're holding onto the past forever."

Steve swallowed. "All I'd be thinking about is her. It's not fair to you."

"That's just a memory. You can make new ones. Better ones. If you try. Just try."

He licked his lips, searching her eyes, and rose to his feet after a moment. She led him towards the center of the floor where couples had gathered and brought him in close, wrapping her arms around his neck. He glanced at the other dancers for reference and rested his hands on her hips, still looking a bit like a scared rabbit instead of a Super Soldier. She began to simply sway as the singer's voice floated over the guitar.

_"Latino caribo, mondo bongo_

_A flower looks good in your hair_

_Latino caribo, mondo bongo_

_Nobody said it was fair, oh..."_

The violinist behind him picked up the melody and Nat felt the music rushing over the two of them, loosening Steve's movements a bit. She twisted and dipped, and he mirrored her, that nervous energy draining as the beat of the bongos and the hypnotic rhythm took over. He spun her and brought her back in, her spine to his chest, his bearded chin brushing her temple, those strong arms anchoring her. Nat shut her eyes and floated on with him late into the night.

-

One thing she'd gotten used to over time was the insane amount of food Steve consumed to keep his physique fueled. He ate enormous meals several times a day, and his favorite meal was always breakfast.

"Geez, Steve," she sighed, eyeing the stack of blueberry pancakes that had gotten significantly lower in the last five minutes. "What pancake are you even on by now?"

He paused, wrinkling his nose. "...seven?"

Nat shook her head and turned back to the pan. "Save some for me, you bottomless pit."

"Stop making them taste so good, and maybe I will," he teased before downing some milk.

"Oh, I'll fix you," she said. "The next batch'll have prunes instead of blueberries."

He snorted around another mouthful. "Gee, thanks, Nat."

She poured another three into the griddle and walked over, stealing his fork and grabbing herself a mouthful in retaliation. She nodded in confirmation.

"You do have a point. These are super good."

Steve's eyes twinkled merrily. "Maybe because they're made with love."

Nat's lips twisted in a smirk. "In your dreams, Rogers."

She drank his milk and returned to the stove amidst his affectionate chuckling.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nat wants to run. But should she?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I JUST HAVE A LOT OF FEELINGS ABOUT STEVE BEING NAT'S ANCHOR OKAY????

_"How fast can a heart shatter_

_Before you're walking on splinters?_

_Your head aches just to feel what it knows_

_Please leave a light on when you go_

_How can you fix something that you can't touch_

_Without hurting?_

_The lesson you learn is leaving you dumb_

_Please leave a light on when it's done_

_Standing high above floodlight_

_Watching all your belongings go by_

_How can you see the ending_

_When you're lost at the beginning?_

_The day hides all that the night left behind_

_Please turn a light on when it dies."_

_-"Please Leave a Light on When You Go" by Fun._

 

She'd warned him.

"Where is it?" Nat muttered furiously, shaking out the bedspread and checking under the pillows. She rifled through the nightstand--albeit quietly--and then crouched, sticking her hands beneath the bed. It was ill advised at a hotel, but she didn't have much choice. She had to go now. She didn't have long.

"Dammit," she hissed between her teeth, and then she stopped. She was breathing too hard, too fast, and the room seemed a little unsteady before her eyes. She touched her chest to confirm her heart rate had almost tripled. She wasn't quite having an anxiety attack, but she wasn't far off from one. Nat squared her shoulders and breathed deep. It needed to be done. It was for her own good. For their own good.

For his own good.

She couldn't think of anywhere else to check. Her shoulders slumped. She opened her eyes one last time at the room she'd packed up and turned to grab her duffel bag.

"For the record," Steve said quietly from where he stood just inside the door to her hotel room, holding up her favorite shade of lipstick. "It was in my coat pocket."

Nat stood perfectly still. "Oh. Forgot I borrowed that last night."

Steve took slow measured steps towards her and offered her the lipstick. She stuck it in her pocket, whispering, "Thanks."

His gaze roved over her. She didn't see it. She wasn't looking into his face, not directly. It would be like staring into the sun. She'd burn the expression on his face into her retinas forever and she wanted to avoid that. "Where to?"

She licked her dry lips. "Belize, at least at first. Had some more things to figure out after that."

Steve nodded. "Not one for goodbyes, huh?"

She shrugged one shoulder absently. "I've always been a 'rip the Band-Aid off' kind of person."

"I know." He exhaled slowly. "Don't have a call to stop you. It's your life. Always was and always will be."

"But?" she whispered.

"I want you to stay."

Nat shut her eyes. "That's why I should go, Steve."

A heavy, painful silence descended over them. Her mind flickered back to the warning, as much as she tried not to think about it.

_"I might run on you," she'd said ever-so-quietly one night when they were in bed spooning after another rough mission. He shifted slightly until his lips were near her ear._

_"Think so?" he asked, his tone gentle and non-judgmental._

_Nat nodded. "Happens. If I get too comfortable, sometimes I get the urge to leave before things can get worse. Can't lose your home if you don't have one. Can't lose your family if you don't have one."_

_"That's a tough way to live."_

_She almost smiled. "Good way not to die, though."_

_Steve hugged her a little closer. "It's your call, Nat. It's always your call. If it makes any difference, if that day should come, you'd be missed."_

_"Thanks, Steve."_

_She felt his lips on her bare shoulder. "Get some sleep, Romanov."_

Steve's fingers brushed her chin, lifting her head. "Nat, look at me."

She wouldn't cry, dammit. Not one damn tear. She struggled but obeyed the command, expecting to find hurt and disappointment in those cornflower blue eyes. Steve smiled and cupped her cheek.

"If you need to run, then run. But you should know that you're stronger than you think you are. We've all lost a lot these past several years, more than anyone should, and it's hard to deal with it. I think being together might make it easier on us all to find our way in the world."

It was hard to breathe, but she managed. "Steve, I...I break things. I'm so damn good at it now. How long until I wreck this thing we have? I don't want to be the woman to undo Captain America."

"I'm not your Captain," he said. "I'm your friend."

The duffel bag collapsed at her feet. He wrapped his arms around her and pressed his lips to her forehead tenderly. She sunk into his embrace, too tired to fight it any longer, and she didn't really want to anyway.

"I'll stay. For you."

"Don't stay for me," Steve whispered back. "Stay for you, Nat."

With those quiet words, she knew she'd never run again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Decided to put this one all on its own since it's so angsty. We'll likely reach the endgame Captasha in an upcoming chapter. I wanted enough friendship and trust developing before we go towards the more romantic angles.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam speaks his piece. Steve realizes an obvious truth. So does Nat.

_"My lover's got humor_

_She's the giggle at a funeral_

_'Cause everybody's disapproval_

_Should have worshiped her sooner_

_If the heavens even did speak_

_She's the last true mouthpiece_

_Every Sunday's getting more bleak_

_Fresh poison each week_

_We were born sick_

_You heard them say it_

_My church offers no absolution_

_Tells me worship in the bedroom_

_Only heaven I'll be sent to_

_Is when I'm alone with you_

_I was born sick_

_But I love it_

_Command me to be well_

_Amen, amen, amen_

_Take me to church_

_I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies_

_I'll tell you my sins so you can sharpen your knife_

_Offer me that deathless death_

_Oh, good God, let me give you my life..."_

_-"Take Me to Church" by Hozier_

"So," Sam said after a swig of his beer. "We gonna talk about this or not?"

"Talk about what?" Steve asked, as he eyed the table where they'd been carefully laying down Dominoes.

"You and Nat."

"What about me and Nat?"

"I will break this bottle over your head, Cap."

Steve glanced up at him. Sam frowned. "Come on, man, it's obvious you two dig each other. When are you going to do something about it?"

Steve sighed. "We're just friends, Sam."

"Just friends?" he repeated, his tone deeply skeptical.

"Yeah."

"Right. You and I are friends, but I don't sneak off to your room in the middle of the night on a regular basis."

Steve tried not to look guilty, but he couldn't really help it. "So you--"

"Knew about that? Yeah, I'm not an idiot, man. You should go for it. All in."

"What we have works, Sam. I'm not going to undo it by inviting sex into the equation."

"You and I both know it's not about sex. I've never seen two people who complement each other as well as the two of you, in the field or elsewhere. You just...click. She makes you happy, Steve. I can see that. Hell, everyone left on the team can see that. And as much as she tries to hide it, you make her happy too."

"Getting involved could jeopardize our ability to work together--"

"Bull," he said frankly. "It's not like it was with her and Banner. There's nothing holding you back but you. I've run enough missions to know it's not going to interfere. How long have you two been working together? Several years, right? That level of trust isn't easy and it doesn't just happen with anyone. She's special."

"You're assuming she feels the same way, Sam. It could be a whole different thing from her side. I'm not looking for anything from her."

"I think you are and you don't want to admit it to yourself. I'm not saying you should bring it up today or tomorrow or the day after. I just think you should take it into consideration. We don't get long in the kind of lifestyle we're in. Time's a beast. You know that better than anyone. I'd hate for both of you to look back and wonder what could have been, y'know?"

He collected the empty beer bottles and headed for the recycling bin. Steve considered the Dominoes before him for a bit before his phone chirped, indicating a text. He checked it.

_You ready? ;)_

_-Nat_

Steve smiled faintly. "Yeah, I think I am."

-

Something was different.

Nat couldn't put it into words. It didn't surprise her. A lot of her relationship with Steve simply transcended words. She'd tried before, in different languages, searching through them for the truth, but she might as well have been climbing the Tower of Babel. It eluded her. They were undefined.

She hadn't run on him, and that was a miracle in itself. She knew something would change, but she didn't know how or when; just that it would someday. Not in a bad way. Just...in a way.

For one, he stopped creeping into bed with her for a short while, probably worried that she needed space after he asked her to stay. Mistake. It made her anxious and she slept much worse. After about the second week when he didn't slip in next to her, she decided to do something about it.

She opened the door slowly, whisper-quiet, not wanting to wake him. It was half past three am, for God's sake. She'd been staring at the wall forever, praying for morning, but the itch under her skin wouldn't quit.

Steve lay with his back to the door--he'd rolled over recently, she concluded, as Steve couldn't sleep unless he faced the door wherever he was--those sculpted shoulders rising and falling in steady intervals. The fan on the other side of the room rustled the sheets every thirty seconds, sweeping cool air past in a constant loop. Steve couldn't sleep if it was hot, after all.

She kicked off her pajama pants and climbed in behind him, her smaller form automatically molding into his larger one. She buried her face between the flat, hard space of his shoulder blades and rested one hand over his waist, well above anywhere inappropriate. She matched his breathing after a moment or two, falling under the indistinguishable spell his scent and warmth always flooded over her senses. It was getting dangerous. It nearly felt odd to fall asleep without him beside her now.

Steve shifted, tilting his head towards her, his voice rough and tired. "Nat?"

"No," she said, deepening her voice sarcastically. "It's me, Sam."

Steve's chest rumbled with a sleepy laugh. "Right. Night, Sam."

He tugged her arm across his waist more comfortably, almost like an extra part of the sheets, and dropped back off to sleep a while later. She followed almost instantly.

She woke up in his arms the next morning.

The steady thump of his heart against her cheek woke her. She felt warm and safe. She tried to remind herself it wasn't even the slightest bit real, but she enjoyed the lie for just a few moments. It was a first for her to be facing him. They almost always spooned or slept jet-pack style. Again, she blamed it on the fact that Steve couldn't fall asleep long with his back to an entry point.

The unspoken reason they'd always slept this way had been to avoid the inevitable problem most healthy men dealt with, and Steve was no different. Apparently, in her sleep, she either hadn't noticed or hadn't minded in the slightest, because she had one leg wrapped around his thigh, which meant his knee brushed between her legs and the edge of his morning erection snugly fit along her pelvis. She could certainly shift away, but it would wake him. Steve slept lightly out of necessity.

And...truth be told, it had been a while for her.

At first, she'd been keeping herself sated with the occasional one night stand if they were in a relatively safe area. Other times she simply took care of herself in the shower to stave off having to find and seduce a date. She liked Sam quite a bit, but she knew he was the type to fall in love and it wouldn't be fair. Steve never said anything to her about their relationship, so she took it as a sign of disinterest. Well, verbal disinterest. Steve's body was very honest, as were his eyes. She knew he looked at her, sometimes by pure accident, sometimes because she wanted to tease him just a bit.

It didn't hurt that he was a feast for the eyes himself. Nat could hide it probably better than anyone when she felt an attraction building, and while they hadn't spoken about it, she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that it was present. She'd felt it piling on like a layer of snow at a time until the weight pressed into her much like a certain part of his anatomy was right now. But she didn't want to push. If he didn't say anything, she didn't say anything. Never the 'twain shall meet.

Until now, technically.

Nat suppressed a sigh and slid back from him. His hands tightened around her instinctively and he stirred, those long, thick eyelashes rising over his hypnotizing gaze. He smiled faintly.

"Morning, Sam."

Nat snorted, her voice imitating their friend's low timbre again. "Morning, Cap."

Steve smiled wider. "How'd you sleep?"

"I slept," she said simply. "That's the difference from the past week. I think we're becoming codependent, Rogers. Maybe we should seek therapy."

He chuckled. "Sorry. Never meant to make it into a habit. Just sort of happened."

She waited for him to drag the covers up to hide his current condition, but he didn't, and it surprised the hell out of her. Steve was nothing if not modest. She'd been right. Something was different.

Nat cleared her throat. "This is usually the part where you roll over and apologize."

He lifted an eyebrow. "And I'm apologizing for what exactly?"

She hadn't expected that either. It intrigued her. She propped her head up on one arm and let a sly tone slip into her voice. "Your... _soldier_ is at attention."

Steve didn't break her gaze. Her heart did a little pitty pat. "Should I be ashamed of that?"

Nat licked her lips, completely by force of habit, her eyes sparkling. "Well, no. I just thought it was odd."

"You thought my soldier was odd?"

"No, I just...you usually sort of scoot away is all. What's different?"

She shivered as his hand flexed where it rested along the curve of her hip. "I don't know. You tell me."

"Maybe I've noticed because it's been a while since my last..." Her lips quirked to one side. "Tour of service."

"Why do you think that is?"

She shrugged one shoulder. "Not enough downtime, and it's tedious to find someone half decent enough who isn't crazy, selfish in bed, or violent. I don't know how you manage, honestly, with as much testosterone as you have."

"Pilates," Steve deadpanned, and she laughed softly.

"Right."

"I've been thinking," he said. "About moments where I've been... _uncomfortable_."

She immediately understood the reference, her mind flicking back to a few years ago on the escalator. It hadn't been the only time. They'd run a mission or two where they had to play married couple, and Steve's kissing prowess had improved exponentially, enough that she started thinking up more scenarios for their married couple routine whenever possible.

"And it seems that you're at the source of most of them."

"Am I?" she said, and nearly didn't recognize her own voice from how husky it had grown.

"You are," he confirmed. "I've been wondering if it's something the two of us should resolve."

"It's an important issue," Natasha murmured, slipping her leg around his thigh again. "We wouldn't want you to be uncomfortable."

She couldn't tell if he'd leaned in or if she did it first. Their lips met. Melted. They both held their breath for a long, glorious second, and then the dam broke.

Steve's tongue parted her lips and his mouth devoured hers as if he'd been a man starving for weeks and she was the first bite of sustenance he'd had. He slid his hand down over her hip to her ass and cupped it with those strong fingers, tugging her fully into his lap. The blunt edge of his cock nudged her clit and she gasped into his mouth, twining her fingers into his hair. He rolled her onto her back and her legs fell open to accommodate him. He slid his hand to her knee and held it against his side as he rolled his hips against the hot, plush space beneath her panties. Natasha shuddered hard as pleasure spiked wildly through her and sought his lips, panting feverishly. He settled that hard, sculpted body over her soft curves, his chest flattening her breasts, one hand clutching her leg upright, the other holding his weight as he rhythmically thrust between her legs, building her climax one stroke at a time. The friction drove her insane. Every sumptuous pass of his clothed cock against her heated core made her wetter and wetter, her inner walls clamping tight, her pulse so loud in her ears it almost drowned out the hoarse sound of her moaning into his mouth.

Steve groaned her name and set his teeth on her throat as he picked up speed. Nat twisted in his grip, a needy cry spilling from her, and then she came undone underneath him. She raked her nails down the back of his t-shirt, her eyes rolling back as the pleasure dragged her down to its depths.

There was no contest. Nat had full contact sex that didn't feel as damn good as what they'd just done.

As her breathing slowed, she opened her eyes and met his gaze. She smiled. He smiled back.

It turned out she'd been right about the whisker burns after all.

She'd wear them proudly.

The morning melted away as they set upon each other like wolves, hungry yet playful in a way that only the two of them understood. Steve brought her a second time with his tongue, she brought him with her own, and when he sunk into her at long last, she knew there wouldn't be anyone after him. He filled her in more ways than one. He made her whole at long last.

They tried their best to stay quiet. Sam was across the hall, after all. Steve did his part, his moans quiet and hidden under heavy breaths, but Nat wanted more. She wanted to bring that same animalistic desperation he'd drawn out of her with his head between her legs, when she'd had to press the pillow over her face as she came screaming his name. She wrapped his arms around her back and pulled him up to meet her, her fingers in his hair, her arms around his neck, holding on tight as she worked her hips down on his cock over and over, swiveling, sinking him deeper. His groans deepened into growls as he squeezed her to his chest, his hips crashing into hers again and again, losing a hand in her scarlet locks as they both climbed towards the climax.

Nat's spine arched as he hit just the right spot. "S-Steve..."

"I know," he whispered roughly, his eyes searing into her. "I feel it too."

He caught her hip in his hand and circled his hips, grinding into her clit, and Nat flew apart. She sobbed out his name as the tidal wave of pure ecstasy swept her away. Steve shuddered and spilled into her not a moment later, her name a reverent prayer on his lips. They sunk onto the mattress in a stunned, exhausted heap and didn't move a muscle until housekeeping knocked a while later.

Understandably, they didn't answer the door.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know "Take Me to Church" is the most overused song in fandom in years, but it still applies, so no regrets. 
> 
> Also, good God, I want Steve's whisker burns all over me. That man rocks a beard in ways I never even dreamt of. Lawd have mercy, let the church say amen. The thirst is real.

**Author's Note:**

> Recently, I've fallen on some rough times and it would be an enormous help if you enjoyed this fic to drop a few bucks into my Kofi: https://ko-fi.com/birdofhermes. Every little bit helps, trust me, and I'd be eternally grateful. Thanks, guys.


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